


it's in the way (you love me)

by eddiekissbrak



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, just a little post high school pre college barn party fluff fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22637080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eddiekissbrak/pseuds/eddiekissbrak
Summary: What's summer without a spur of the moment barn party at the Hanlon's?
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 69





	it's in the way (you love me)

“A barn party?”

“Yeah.”

“Well wuh-what is it?”

Mike looks at Stan. Stan looks at Bill. Bill, wide-eyed, looks back and forth between the two of them. 

“It’s… a party. In a barn.” Stan speaks slowly, though the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying desperately not to smile. 

“Well I knuh- _know_ that,” Bill says in exasperation, and Mike lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and laughs, relieved. He knows Bill is smart, he does—the good grades and power essays will prove it—but sometimes Bill’s brain cells took vacations. Sometimes Bill would write the coolest shit in creative writing class: the kinda shit that Mike and Bev and Richie (so, by proxy, Eddie as well) liked to read. Horror stories, like the slasher films the Losers stayed up to watch (Ben and Stan preferred anything but horror), though Bill has a habit of adding corny romantic subplots that appealed more to Ben than anyone else. Bill would write those, would blow the whole Loser’s club away with them, and then turn around and introduce himself as Dilliam Benbrough. 

His braincells took vacations, but they always came back. 

"I meant what is it fuh-for?” 

Mike shrugs. “For fun.”

“Why, do you have other plans that day, Bill?” Stan crosses his arms, and Bill grins. 

“I’m in. On wuh-one condition.” 

*** * ***

“Are you kidding me?” Eddie scowls. “Cowboy attire mandatory?”

"I don’t know why you’re complaining, Eds; it’s your fantasy come true. I have two words for you, bro.” Richie strikes a pose and the sound of his hand slapping against his thigh is too loud in the small space of the clubhouse. “Assless. Chaps.”

“Take it back, Bill, please.” Eddie looks at Bill helplessly, but Bill’s too busy flipping through a Sears catalog to see it. 

“Shuh-should I get classic brown leather style boots? Or should I g-go for a buh-bold black instead?” 

Bev leans over his shoulder and points to an image on the sheet, her nail polish still wet. “These. They’ll match that plaid you got at the Thrifty Mart today.” 

Eddie turns to Mike, eyes desperate, but Mike just shrugs. 

“I've been looking for a reason to wear my cowboy hat. Sorry, Eddie.” 

Richie slaps his thigh again and raises his eyebrows suggestively at Eddie. “C’mon Eddie, saddle up! We’re goin’ full gay cowboy. Wanna share a tent with m—.” 

Eddie, red with fury (and flushed with embarrassment) punches Richie’s shoulder. Richie cackles, and cackles, until Eddie’s pout twists like he’s holding back his own giggles; until Stan turns to Mike with a flat look and asks if they can be uninvited. 

“We need eight to square dance, Stan.” 

Eddie stops mid-tousle with Richie and squawks. “We have to _dance_?” 

Bill looks up from his magazine and sighs. “It’s a barn party, Eddie.” 

Eddie flips him off, and this time they all laugh. 

*** * ***

“Oh my god.” 

“ _W_ _ow_.”

“Holy shit, Benny boy!” Richie puts his hands on his hips and slowly turns in a circle, surveying the empty barn. “You out-fuckin’-did yourself, now!” 

“ _Richie Tozier!_ ” calls a warning voice from the corner, and Jessica Hanlon gives him the stink eye from thirty feet away. “You watch your mouth while I’m around.”

Richie holds up an apologetic hand, though his mouth quivers with the shadow of a smile. “You got it, Mrs. H!” 

“Nice, Richie,” Bev smirks. She turns to Ben. “Seriously Ben, this place looks incredible.”

The lights were the hardest part: stringing them up in the rafters, wrapping them around the old wood and across the walls… Ben had suffered his share of splinters and spider encounters. It’s a big barn too, and Ben’s hands were sweaty from the early June heatwaves (and nerves from the spider encounters). But with the help of Mike and his uncle he'd managed, and now the whole barn was strung with fairy lights and Chinese lanterns. 

“It’s dreamy,” Bev says, looking Ben in the eye as she does. “ _Romantic_.” 

Ben goes as crimson as the barn and looks at his feet.

“Thanks, Bev.” 

“Are you guys gonna’ help set-up or just stand there like raisins on a celery stick?” Jessica stands behind the group now, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. “Your poor friend is struggling over there and you all are looking at the lights like a bunch of moths.” 

Mike turns to where Bill’s currently putting up the big banner he and Bev painted. Well, trying to put up the banner. Actually, _struggling_ is really the word he’s looking for. Every time Bill would get one side taped up he’d walk to the other, but just as he’d get that corner taped down the first side would fall again. Mike bites his lip and tries not to smile too wide. 

They all stand there for another few seconds watching Bill struggle before Mike shakes his head and jogs over to help. 

“Oh!” Bill says as Mike pressed his palm to the paper to keep it up as Bill fought with the tape dispenser. “Th-thanks, Mikey.” 

“No problem, Bill.” Mike watches Bill attempt to rip the tape with his teeth. “Are you going to the barn party with anyone?”

Bill pauses, looks up at Mike with the strip of tape still in his mouth. “Uhh. The rest of yuh-you guys?”

"I meant as a date.” Mike’s face is perfectly calm, but the cage of his rib bones shakes noisily with the thumping of his heart. “Are you, you know, going with anyone?”

Bill starts fighting with the tape again. “Uh, n-no.”

“Do you want to go with me?”

Bill manages to rip off the tape he needs, and finally secures the poster. Mike steps back cautiously from the wall, just in case it decides to fall again. Nothing moves. Mike looks back to Bill, who still hasn’t answered. 

“Yes. Yuh-yeah.” Bill smiles, a soft thing, and nods. “That’d be awesome, Mikey.” 

“Cool,” Mike says, feeling very, very cool. “Very cool.” 

*** * ***

“Whoa, Eds, slow down—Eddie, damn, what’re you running for?” Richie’s keeping up pretty easily with his long legs and therefore long strides, but Eddie’s practically jogging at this point and soon Richie’s going to have to do the same. “What’s goin’ on, cowboy?”

“Don’t _cowboy_ me,” Eddie grumbles, his boots making a little click-click with every step as the fake spurs tapped against the sidewalk. 

Richie stops. “Eds, are you mad at me?” Eddie’s still walking, albeit a little slower now. “Eddie.”

“I’m not mad!” Eddie says, madly, though he stops walking too. “I’m just. I’m. ugh!” Eddie makes a little noise of frustration and Richie tries desperately not to feel so fucking fond about it. “Why didn’t you ask me to go with you to the barn party?”

If Richie wasn’t already frozen to the spot, that would’ve knocked him out cold. “Wh… what? Whaddya mean? I’m here, with you, right— “

“But you didn’t ask. You just showed up unannounced like you always do.” 

“Well yeah, that’s just how it is—”

“But why didn’t you ask?” Eddie turns, sparks of red on high cheekbones turned orange in the lamplight. He looks like a puppy, ears turned down and big brown eyes hiding a certain sadness under the brow of anger that covered it. The pieces click together in Richie’s head. 

“Oh. Ohhh. I get it.” Richie shoves his hands in his pockets, a horribly knowing grin spreading across his face. “You wanted to be romanced.” 

“That is _not_ what I said.” 

Richie takes a few steps forward. “You wanted me to get down on one knee and lend you my kerchief as an invite to the debutante ball.” Richie, playing up the western twang he’s taken on, over-pronounces every syllable in debutante. Eddie scoffs to hide the beginning of a laugh. 

“Shut _up_ Richie, I was just saying—“

“Well, mister Edward J. Kaspbrak— 

“Don’t call me that.”

“— would you do me the honor of bein’ my pardner—“

"I hate you.”

“And accompanyin’ me to the Hanlon barn party so I don’t haf’ta ride solo tonight?”

Richie’s got his hand cupped under Eddie’s chin by now, and the other arm curled loosely around Eddie’s waist. In the early twilight glow, Richie’s eyes shine with amusement and something else; something that’s always wrapped in every glance sent Eddie’s way. Love, probably, though Eddie’s still scared to say it and Richie’s no better. Sometimes Richie knows he’s in love but he also knows he was in love last year, and the year before, and the year before that one, and every year that goes by Richie’s love feels deeper and stronger and _real_ -er. Richie used to think love was a peak at the top of a mountain of feelings but being with Eddie has him thinking that maybe it isn’t, that maybe love is the whole fucking mountain and Richie never wants to stop climbing. 

“Yes, asshole, of course I want to go to the barn party with you.” Eddie’s not even trying to look angry anymore. Richie wants to kiss him, and he goes to do so, but the oversized rims of their cowboy hats bump together and it makes them both laugh. 

“Gay cowboys sure have it rough, huh?” Richie asks. “Let’s try that again.” Then he tilts his hat back, leans down, and kisses Eddie properly. 

*** * ***

The lights looked good in the day, but they look downright magical in the dark of night. There’s still a purple tint to the sky, leftover from the stretched out sunset, and though there’s no cracks in the roof to see the stars through, they cast a foggy glow on the grass outside. 

The music is loud, but not too loud, and cheerful, but not overtly so. Dancing music is what it is, and most people are inside making the most out of it. Stan’s in there with Patty, Mike knows—he’d seen them spinning circles around everyone else. Mike knows for a fact Stan doesn’t take dancing lessons, but the way he and Patty swing and dance with such ease and grace makes you think it was practiced. Mike just thinks that true love shows in the way you move together. You can always see it in the way people dance. It’s about… well, Richie and Eddie have it too, and Richie’s got two left feet and a tragic lack of the “being able to take things seriously” bone. 

It’s in the way they look at each other, though, the way Eddie’s face pulls into a joyous adoration when Richie spins him around the room obnoxiously even though he’s telling Richie to _put me down, put me down!_ It’s in the way Bev brushes her fingers against Ben’s when he hands her a cup of punch, and the way Ben’s knee lingers when Bev’s knee rests against his on the bench; like every touch is infinite and worth every second. It’s in the way Stan holds Patty as they dance, like she’s something to be _held_ , and the way Patty holds him just the same.

Fuck, Mike knows he’s only eighteen, but he knows what love, _true_ love, looks like. 

“the p-party is inside,” Bill says. An adjacent thought to Mike’s last, suddenly here before him: Bill, in all his plaid and leather fringe glory. Mike’s heart, a racehorse poised at the startling line, takes off.

"I needed a break from the line dancing. Your mom is kicking my ass.” It’s true; Ms. Denbrough sure knows how to country-shake it. 

“She was muh-more excited for this than I was,” Bill jokes, and then walks the rest of the way from the barn to the edge of the field where Mike is standing. 

“You look good.” It’s a bit sudden, maybe, but that thought evaporates when Bill lights up with a shy smile. “The cowboy look suits you.” 

“Thuh-thanks, Mikey.” Bill’s hand twitches, like he’s going to reach out, but it stays at his side. “Your shirt. It’s a g-good shirt.” 

Bill makes a face. _Nice one, Denbrough._

"I mean yuh-you look strong it it. I mean, handsome. And strong, tuh-too.” Bill’s bright pink, and Mike can't think him any cuter. “Yuh-you know what I mean.”

"I wear this shirt all the time,” Mike says, just to see if Bill will flush darker. He does.

“Yuh-yeah, I know.” 

Mike’s eyes flick to the barn and back. Out here, the music is muffled, but Mike can still tell hear Andy Williams crooning his familiar tune from the speakers inside.

“Do you want to dance with me, Bill?” 

Bill’s hand twitches again. “Out here?” 

Mike nods. Bill nods, and Mike bets his heart is knocking against his ribs just as hard as the one in Mike’s chest. Mike offers his hand, and Bill takes it, and the next moment Mike’s got Bill Denbrough against his chest as they sway to the easy beat of _M_ _oon River ._

 _It’s in the way Bill steps on my feet,_ Mike thinks. _It’s in the way he apologizes every time,_ _even when I just laugh and promise him it’s okay._

It’s in the way he keeps apologizing, cheeks flushed and hands curled around Mike’s arms, until Mike kisses him quiet. It’s in the way that Mike’s only eighteen, but he knows what love, _true_ love, feels like.


End file.
